


Repairs

by KiKi_the_Creator



Category: Love Island (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Erikah's pretty gay this time, F/F, Pining, Villa and post-villa au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:01:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26899357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiKi_the_Creator/pseuds/KiKi_the_Creator
Summary: Erikah fucked up. Like,reallyfucked up. She lost her best friend in the Villa and half the Islanders’ trust in one fell swoop. And now she’s stranded with a mangled relationship and a broken heart, but she can't repair anything. Not when the person she needs to fix things with the most isn't willing to let her try.
Relationships: Erikah & Main Character (Love Island), Erikah/Main Character (Love Island)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 20





	1. Shattering

Erikah steps onto the terrace, the chill of the night seeping through her thin, flowing long sleeve as she glances to the stars. They’re twinkling in the Spanish sky, moonlight illuminating the path beneath Erikah’s feet, an unfamiliar but welcome sight. She approaches the edge of the terrace with a bag of salt and vinegar crisps in hand, slowly unfolding the crumpled opening as she sits down.

A small bird hops along the terrace wall, feathers messy as she jumps about, carefully making her way to Erikah. When she arrives before the giant she’s befriended, she pecks at the closed hand holding a crisp between three fingers, breaking it apart with her little beak after it lands in an open palm. She chirps softly, ruffling her miniscule, layered feathers with a small shake.

Erikah smiles, just as soft and delicate as the tiny chirp, gently stroking fingers down the bird’s fragile head, scratching feathers with the nail at the tip of her index and humming quietly as the little bird nudges her outstretched fingers for more crisps. She soon obliges, laying out a few more on the space in front her crossed legs and watching as the tiny beak shatters each one in turn.

There’s no resistance from the crisps, the faintest force destroying them with ease, even if the hard exterior presents the illusion of a challenge. But they all shatter with the right amount of pressure, a peck in the weakest spot leaving them beyond repair, crumbs of what they once were.

The night’s still, the Villa quiet for once as a soft breeze flits through the rolling hills surrounding the enclosed estate. The pool’s sparkling on the grounds, starlight twinkling across its softly churning waves. The sounds of crickets and insects fills the space and Erikah’s eardrums, providing a soothing soundtrack for the pleasant midnight hour.

Footfalls sound from nearby, Erikah turning to the creaks in the floors both curiously and warily; she’s yet to encounter anyone else on her daily escapades. Mason steps out on the terrace, dressed in his typical shirt that billows lightly in the breeze and another pair of tight boxers that hug his thighs. He glances over at Erikah’s smaller form, smiling sheepishly at her wide and surprised eyes, “Sorry. Didn’t think anyone’d be up.”

Erikah averts her gaze, turning back to her winged friend, “It’s fine,” she murmurs, hesitant to disturb the calm of the night more than he already has, his volume unconsciously equipping Erikah’s bubbling loathing with more ammo for daring to break this holy quiet that blankets the terrace, her favourite place in the Villa that provides much needed relief from the constant chatter. It’s a temple she worships every morning and he has no right in her mind to degrade it with his words, with his sacrilegious presence as a whole, especially when her current late-night prayer is the consequence of him, and solely him.

She liked Mason once, she really did. She wanted to couple up with him once, even. She got on with him easily once, too. She was happily friends with him once, but those times stopped a few hours ago, crushed and murdered beside the fire pit the Islanders were standing around without a single drop of mercy, the blood flowing and pooling at Erikah’s feet, hypnotic enough that she stared at the way it stained her heels and submerged her delicately painted toenails past visibility for an eternity, until Rohan was calling to her. 

Until he was calling for her to wade through the flood of red drowning and sinking her ankles to stand at his side as a trophy for his grafting efforts, grafting she suddenly despised as she stepped atop a trophy pedestal she wanted to destroy with her bloody heels until she was never forced to present herself as his or any other bloke’s again. 

Those times with Mason stopped when he announced his new partner, who’s name he was just so happy to declare and so happy to be holding the power for once, to be in control and able to twist the narrative into submission, to make him the lovable boy-next-door that everyone had been rooting for since the pilot episode that was still finding its footing, the first chapter that set up the predictable plot, the first scene of the movie that already had audiences enthralled, regardless of the lack of chemistry between him and the main character, regardless of every other character that was shipped and paired with her.

That all burned in the fire pit before him - the books, the DVDs, and the movie ticket stubs, every last item that kept him in Erikah’s thoughts - when he said ‘Ivy.’

Ivy and Erikah have been close since the first day in the Villa - likely qualifying as best friends before sunset had even seeped through the Villa. They just clicked in a way no one could articulate, but a way that was natural and went unquestioned. They clicked before anyone else, before Talia and Jake were mates, before Allegra and Jen were plotting together, before Tim had inserted himself between Erikah and Ivy. They had glanced to each other all day, sharing private jokes before night had even fallen and whisked away the bustle of the day.

They were close before Erikah first escaped to the roof terrace, and they were close at that recoupling, close enough that amber eyes sought out Erikah’s for reassurance, and Erikah’s box braids flew over her shoulder to catch Ivy’s eye in the same pursuit. 

They were so close, in fact, that Erikah was the person Ivy went to when Jasper was being a pain on that first night. So close that Ivy’s who Erikah confided in when her couple with Tim wasn’t working out. So close that Erikah’s the one who Ivy will tell anything, from boy drama to her deepest, darkest fears. So close that Ivy’s that person for Erikah, too, someone she can spill every hope and dream. So close that there’s even a few things Erikah can’t spill, hopes and dreams that would collapse before her eyes if she did.

Their relationship is push and pull, symbiotic and interdependent as they lean against each other to survive failed couples and petty girl drama. Erikah’s always been aware of this and she’s been happy with this, content to carry on their interconnected friendship and subtly assure that Ivy’s happy. That’s been Erikah’s excuse. If Ivy’s happy, then there’s no reason for her to ever say anything or get involved, to do anything but watch from afar and provide a shoulder to cry on when required.

She figured that’d be easy to do, a simple task to check off without much emotional labour, allotting her plenty of time to move on and find a shoulder of her own to cry on, one that hopefully doesn’t belong to someone hopelessly pining after her. Ivy’s confident and always knows what she wants, fearless and brave enough to never let anyone get in her way. So why would she ever do anything that’ll make her unhappy? Erikah had rationalised. 

Then she had pursued Mason, leaving Erikah’s reasonings to fall apart, burning to ash in her hands alongside her friendship with Mason. Mason, who had seemed so content with Cherry, eager to impress her and spend every second with her, eager to return her affections and feelings, just to turn around and couple up with Ivy. That image at the fire pit of Cherry’s hurt and despair hadn’t sat well with Erikah, and she can’t tell why. Whether it’s concern that he’ll do the same to Ivy or petty jealousy that he was the one to make her smile the way she did when it obviously should have been Erikah, she can’t tell. But she knows she hates it.

And now Mason is standing in front of her, awkwardly rubbing his neck under Erikah’s heavy, judgmental, and borderline callous gaze. “So, um, how’s it going?” Her voice remains low, protecting the sky’s calm and ensuring it remains untouched, the terrace’s silence the only casualty in this interaction so far as she breaks the tension, not quite ready to spill more blood, not when it’s still caked on her feet and ash still stains her hands.

Mason grins, dropping down on a seat across from her and propping his elbows on his knees, hands clasping before him, “Good. I’m pretty excited to be with Ivy, you know?” There’s a twinkle in his eye that chokes Erikah across the distance, her throat tightening with each forceful breath.

But she nods along, admittedly stiffly, but she nods all the same. Because she does know. She knows more than he thinks she does, and she probably knows more than anyone else on the planet. And she used to be okay with that, but the thought of knowing just as much as Mason irks her. No one else had ever seemed to know as much. Not Jasper, not Jake, not Levi. “Yeah, I bet,” she manages, bitter sarcasm finding its way into her words.

Mason scrunches up his face, nose crunched and lips in a slight snarl as he looks at her, “What’s that meant to mean?” he frowns in confusion, the snark in her voice ruffling his feathers much the same as the little bird’s.

Erikah feigns innocence, bright doe eyes and fluttering lashes contrasting her quickly darkening intentions, “Oh, nothing really. It’s just good that you’re excited. I don’t think you’re the only one, but maybe it gives you an edge,” she shrugs nonchalantly, almost dismissively in a slight to his confidence.

“Well, now what’s _that_ meant to mean?” She blinks in faux confusion, head tilting to sell her ignorance better. “I’m not the only one?” his voice is softer now, almost vulnerable. But then his expression hardens to sharp stone, able to cut and protect himself all at once, lacking the sense to decipher friend from foe, “You mean Levi? Does she still have her eye on him?”

Erikah shrugs, turning back to the bird fluttering its wings before her, the dark of the night illuminating the sparkle in the small creature’s eyes. “It’s hard to say. They’re pretty close, but he’s been loyal. I think she likes that,” she casually comments, as if her words aren’t grinding Mason’s world to a stop, leaving Ivy to lurch forward in the aftermath.

Mason doesn’t vocalise any of the thoughts rattling around in his head, opting to stare with unfocused eyes at the floor beneath his bare feet. His breathing fills the space, both disrupting the terrace’s atmosphere and mingling with the environment. When Erikah glances over she can’t untangle the mess of emotions flickering across his face, and honestly doesn’t even bother to try. She’s too caught up in the dark swirling in her gut to care if he’s hurt. 

Actually, she _wants_ him to hurt, to feel a fleeting speck of the loathing, anger, and contempt that washed over her at his and Ivy’s ecstasy a few hours ago. She _wants_ him to feel an ounce of her insecurity and inadequacy at Ivy’s entire dismissal of Erikah in a light beyond platonic on the colour wheel. She _wants_ him to run. She wants him to leave her and go back to Cherry or Allegra or whoever. She _wants_ him to never wrap himself around Ivy again, because it makes it real, it tears Ivy from her fingertips and strands Erikah in the reality she wants to ignore.

The reality in which she’s nothing but the supportive best friend, offering wide smiles and thumbs ups as Ivy rides into the sunset with whatever boy that is so far beneath her but has still snaked his way into her heart. Now, don’t think that Erikah believes that she’s better than any of them. She doesn’t think she’s perfect or even in Ivy’s league. She doesn’t think she’s some amazing catch or worth the world. But she wants to be the one to give it to Ivy, because she _knows_. 

She knows more than all the boys throwing themselves at her feet just how special Ivy is. She knows she’s more than a pretty face - even though she’s the most gorgeous person Erikah’s ever laid eyes on. She knows she’s smart and clever and badass and soft and kind and funny and even beautifully dense and ignorant at times. She just _knows_ , even if she tried to forget. Tried to use the boys to distract herself long enough for every memory of Ivy to disappear. If only Rohan could replace her or maybe even Mason in another lifetime, but they can’t and they never could, so she still _knows._

Though Erikah’s starting to think Mason doesn’t know, as much as he’s convinced he does. Him and Levi seem to believe Cherry and Jen can replace her, easy stand-ins for the real deal. But Erikah knows they could never hold a candle, regardless of how amazing they each are in their own right. Their hair isn’t that chocolate-cinnamon concoction that shines in the sun. Their eyes aren’t that honey and hazel swirl that sparkles and crinkles with every laugh. Their bodies aren’t as defined, their skin isn’t as dark, and their smiles aren’t as bright. They just aren’t _Ivy._ Imperfect, flawless, incredible Ivy.

The bird chirps softly, flapping her wings and ruffling pale feathers to draw Erikah’s attention back to her. She hops on her small feet before spreading her wings, flapping up to the tree that loosely hangs over the Villa’s roof terrace, branches tumbling over the edge and leaves blowing in the wind. She bids farewell to her flightless friend, abandoning her in the chilled air in favor of the home she’s built deeper into the trees, a nest that provides a permanent escape, not a momentary withdrawal.

Erikah watches her go, the faint sounds of the late night barely filling the hole Clarice’s absence has presented. When it’s clear that Clarice isn’t returning tonight, she stands, meticulously folding the salt and vinegar crisp bag closed with extra care. She creases the foil several times to make sure it won’t unravel when she leaves it before carefully turning to face Mason. “Well…” she drawls, “Good luck.” She offers her most reassuring smile as punctuation, a period that feels out of place.

Mason nods blankly as Erikah leaves him be, turning back into the Villa’s interior and navigating through the small slits of moonlight filtering through the cracks and windows to the cool outside. She finds herself in the kitchen, stooping down and delicately pulling open a cupboard filled with snacks to entertain the Islanders. She sorts through the few boxes and bags of opened and unopened sweets and crisps, eventually settling on hiding the crisp bag behind a box of Raisin Bran that hasn’t been touched since they arrived.

The cupboard is closed softly, Erikah’s fingertips ghosting along the frame as she stands to revel in the silence for a moment more, letting her elbows fall to the countertop before her and her weight falling against it in one smooth motion. Creaks and whispers sound in the distance, none close enough to jerk Erikah from her reverie, however.

A reverie that is flooded with guilt and pride for taking a stand, for finally being honest and indulging her wildest fantasies, however unrealistic they may be, and unease and certainty over what tomorrow may bring for the Villa, a day bound to be filled with relationship breakups instigated by Mason and comfort hopefully sought in Erikah. 

She considers the effect that moment with Mason may have on her and on him, likely irreversible and no doubt remembered forever. On the effect it may have on Ivy. Erikah prays to God she’ll be happy, that maybe Mason will backtrack and Ivy will find solace in Erikah’s arms; it’s happened before. Potentially the entire Villa will feel the aftershocks, Levi and Jake running in to save the day despite Erikah’s protests, Cherry getting her man back and Allegra and Jasper no doubt inserting themselves for entertainment. 

She shakes her head at the bizarre web of events her imagination spun so easily, silently chiding herself for falling into the melodrama, until she realises she might as well; it’s the whole reason she’s here, right? She pushes off from the counter, walking out of the kitchen with crossed arms and a heavy heart. Her quiet footfalls echo against the walls as she passes them, slowly retreating to the general safety of the bedroom, where her dream man awaits.

Not that she’s ever dreamed of him or wished for him to be hers. While his smile sparkles bright enough to blind, he’s never actually left her fumbling for her water bottle. While his banter is enough to leave you bent over breathless, he’s never actually left her gripping her sides and collapsing into a bean bag. While his heart is pure enough to melt your own, he’s never actually left a puddle of thumping veins and muscle within her chest.

Yet, he seems to only have eyes for Erikah, something she would have relished in another lifetime. Now she just feels guilty, like she’s playing him or lying to him. Which, in all honesty, she is. She tells him he’s the only one for her to watch his smile brighten, even when Ivy’s sitting right next to her, close enough to touch. She laughs at every joke out of his mouth to watch him come up with more and more, even when Ivy’s close enough to hold. She tells him something’s wrong even when it isn’t just to watch him try and fix it, with the most tender look in his eyes, even when Ivy’s close enough to kiss.

And that’s the thought that finally lulls Erikah to sleep: a fantasy of reaching out, cupping Ivy’s cheeks and telling her everything she feels, ending it with the softest kiss imaginable, just to watch the way her amber eyes sparkle. In reality, Rohan’s arm flings across her midsection and the guilt only grows in the pit of her stomach, right below his resting hand.

\---

Erikah’s on the roof terrace for the second night in a row, but it’s not as quiet as before, not as peaceful. There’s no feathers ruffling softly or breeze gently brushing her skin. There’s loud voices and cold, cruel winds beating down on her entire body as she sits with her head buried between her knees and arms wrapped around herself protectively.

The dinner has continued - at least as far as Erikah is aware - and the raised voices echoing from the table are sending shockwaves through Erikah’s entire body. She shouldn’t have said what she said last night, she shouldn’t have left her to hurt all day, and she definitely shouldn’t have been the one to hurt her.

Except she did. She did all of those things and now Ivy’s relationship is in pieces and she can’t even trust Erikah to stand by her through the maelstrom this time. Erikah feels vile, disgusting, traitorous, and evil because of it. She wants to apologise until she can’t breathe, then explain herself until she loses consciousness. She wants to come to and repeat the process again and again and again until the end of her life, whether Ivy forgives her or not, whether she listens or not.

And she would. She’d try at least, if it didn’t mean outing herself and telling the entire world she’s evil because she’s jealous. That she felt the need to claim what was never and will never be hers, regardless of what happened on this very terrace a day ago. And she thinks that might hurt worse, being more than just a villain, but a stupidly feeling, heartlessly petty villain, too. She fears that telling the world what’s caged in her chest will leave her more hollow than she started, a gaping hole in where the bars of her heart’s prison once held something more than despair.

So instead, she’s hiding from the world and the Islanders, but most importantly, she’s hiding from Ivy and the fire that was lit inside of her all day. If Erikah sees the anger that was held within those bright, glowing eyes, those might be the last thing she ever sees. If she hears the strain and the fury that was in that melodic voice, it might be the last thing she ever hears. If she has to face Ivy, rage the only emotion on that sculpted face, she might collapse into a pile of unfeeling nothingness.

Rather than risk it, Erikah curls in on herself, letting the wind berate her and the echoes of Islanders wash over her. Every time a voice draws closer to Erikah’s safe haven, she jumps out of her skin, terrified it’s Ivy coming to scream until her throat goes raw, or Mason intent on exacting revenge for butchering his relationships, or Rohan coming to tell her she’s a terrible person and he’s never coupling up with her again, that she’s fated for the next dumping and the onslaught of the real world. 

Yet, they never do. None of those three, that is. When the Villa’s mostly quieted, Cherry’s the one to gently open the door, the dinner having ended ages ago, though Erikah’s perception of time is likely a little wonky. Tired blue eyes find watery dark ones in the dark, her red stained lips offering Erikah a small smile. She doesn’t give any of her typical greetings, doesn’t shower Erikah in the pet names and plastic compliments and conversation she holds so dear, opting for something more serious for once. 

She settles beside Erikah, letting a hand trace along her spine comfortingly as she stares ahead, Erikah settling back into herself after a minute of tense quiet. “You going to be okay?” Cherry whispers, aware of the precious quiet of the roof terrace that Erikah treasures so deeply.

The quiet resumes, Cherry’s voice nothing but a tiny ripple in the pond, as opposed to Mason’s tsunami the night before. Erikah considers the question, rolling it over in her mind a thousand times, testing a dozen different responses on her tongue, none quite right, until she settles on a nod. No more ripples, only an answer with a million more questions behind it, begging to burst forward.

Only Cherry doesn’t ask any of them, “Good,” she breathes beside Erikah, a tiny wave spilling out from the dropped stone. “Do you want me to leave you be?” Her voice is hesitant, as if she isn’t sure she should even be asking such a question, one she likely knows the answer for. And, as Erikah’s quickly learning, there’s a lot more to Cherry than what meets the eye.

Erikah nods again, Cherry’s hand quickening its pace momentarily, settling on Erikah’s upper arm as she stands and squeezing tight before letting the cold back in, goosebumps breaking across Erikah’s skin as Cherry leaves her be, just as she said she would.

Maybe it’s not too bad now, if Cherry’s going to be like this. Maybe Erikah can seek solace in the girl with the fire-red hair, rather than the one with the molten chocolate flowing down her back. Maybe Erikah’s feelings will dissolve, or maybe she’ll just never leave the terrace. Both options seem preferable to what Erikah knows is inevitable.

The sparkling stars begin to enchant Erikah as her mind finally quiets to the volume of the terrace, her eyes staring into the abyss above her as crickets fill the night, a sound she’s missed all day. A few chirps add to the symphony, bird songs providing a wonderful melody as Erikah watches moonlight dance through the trees, casting dark shadows and shining shapes.

Eventually Erikah’s eyelids feel heavier than they should and she stands, brushing herself off carefully, cautious that any thread out of place or speck of dust will be nothing but ammunition against her. 

Funny, how much something so small can mean so much when you hate someone. A day ago, Erikah would have taken a single wrinkle in Mason’s shirt as a reason for Ivy to leave him, to abandon him at the fire pit, returning to a friendship couple that doesn’t leave Erikah’s chest aching. Now the shoe’s on the other foot, any imperfection a reason for Ivy to never look back on what she’s already given up, something she once held so dear. But maybe Erikah’s more disposable than she considered herself to be.

Not that Erikah would blame Ivy for loading her body up with bullets, but they’d still hurt and bleed and fester, until they were infected and Erikah was begging for release. So she takes care to add as much armour as possible in the upcoming battle on the horizon, all the while praying it’ll never meet her, that those wounds will never open and burn as Ivy walks away, ripping apart any last shred of Erikah that survived the shooting.

Sufficiently pleased that she looks impeccable and impervious to judgement, Erikah steps inside, noises more prominent within the Villa’s walls than when she was surrounded by nothing but the dark sky. But there’s no voices, no screaming or jokes, no fights or banter - just quiet, just how Erikah likes it.

She shuffles through the Villa, slowly making her way to the dressing room and bathroom, trying her damnedest to avoid any shadows or roaming Islanders and anything that may provoke them into action. She eventually slips into the dressing room and grabs her towel, looking to stall and confirm that everyone’s long been asleep, drifting through dreams more pleasant than Erikah’s are bound to be. She steps into the bathroom, wary of finding anyone inside.

And her heart stops when she spots the one person that she’s been most afraid of finding herself with. The one person with the most ammunition, and the one person that could make her fall apart without even firing.

Dark flowing hair reminds Erikah of the weeks of laughing and smiling in the brutal Spanish sun, of the weeks of swapping whispered secrets in the chill starlight, of the weeks of nudges and private glances in the cool shade.

Only this time there’s no laughter, no smiles, no more whispers and no more glances. No more of any of the things that made Erikah’s heart pound in her ears and swell in her chest. No more of everything that made the Villa the best few weeks of Erikah’s life. No more of the Ivy that Erikah adores.

No more, as she’s standing at the bathroom sink with the most gut-wrenching expression, the most heart-breaking emotions plastered across her face as she wipes falling tears from her cheeks, more spilling over incessantly as she sniffles and grabs tissue after tissue, mascara staining them until they fall to the countertop. A few whimpers and cracked sobs echo through the near-empty bathroom as her voice falls apart in her throat time and time again.

A broken picture stands before Erikah, except it’s not made of paint and canvas, ink and paper - it’s made of flesh and bone, tears and heartbreak. It’s an image Erikah wants to forget, to restore, to ignore, to save. _Anything_ to stop the vulnerability before her that doesn’t belong. Ivy’s not vulnerable, she’s invincible. She told Jasper off, she held her ground with Allegra, she wrapped half the boys around her finger. Ivy doesn’t cry, she doesn’t sob and crack apart into shards in the bathroom. She just _doesn’t_.

So how the hell has Erikah managed to peck her just right, to witness this cracking, this crumbling, this _shattering?_


	2. Sinking

Blood rushes through Erikah’s ears, thumping and beating inside of her skull like hammers crashing against ceramic, splitting bone to pieces and drowning out the echoes of sobs, the breaking of glass, the utter despair and destruction before her. A deafened Erikah is left to stare and gawk, her body suddenly cripplingly hollow and empty, nothing of what it should be in this moment or any other for that matter. She’s a cold body laying on an autopsy table, the tears on Ivy’s cheeks scooping out her insides and depositing them on the cold tile beneath her feet mercilessly, as if they were never alive.

As her head pounds harder and harder, the ceramic inside of her head turning to dust, and her breath becomes more and more ragged, shaking and shallow as it trembles in her throat, she clamps her jaw and her eyelids shut, colours flaring in her muted vision as the world swims and she drowns in it. As the oxygen in the room is sucked out in an instant and she suffocates in the chilling, unfeeling bathroom. As the lights in the ceiling brighten and she burns under them like a leaf beneath a magnifying glass. As everything destroys her, desecrates her, demolishes her, attacking everything within her, every emotion, every desire, every thought, until all that’s left is determination, intent bubbling, boiling, fighting to explode from within her.

Determination to fix this, to correct this wrong, to patch up this gaping, bloody wound as it oozes before her eyes. This is her one chance to repair _everything,_ her one opportunity to set things back as they were, to bring back those night’s on the terrace and days on the bean bags. She can’t miss this chance or risk making things impossibly worse. She can’t leave Ivy to hurt and bleed and crack alone in the bathroom, the emptiest, most desolate desert within the Villa’s walls, the barest terrain to die in, alone and forgotten from the rest of the world.

Erikah forces her eyes open, forces her lungs to inhale a calming breath, forces her feet to take a step forward, her socks feeling like one tonne weights dragging her feet down as she slowly pushes forward, careful to not make any noise, regardless of her intentions. Her intentions to be better, to be right, to be good. Her intentions to help, to care, to do something other than wreck and fuck up, to do something real for the person she cares about most. Something to set their friendship back on track, but most importantly to patch Ivy up, to give her a second chance and an ordinary, run of the mill journey on Love Island, an out from this mutilation tearing her apart, from these gashes splitting her skin open as shards poke out from her skin. 

Time seems to still as she takes hesitant, careful step after anxiety-ridden, overly cautious step to cross the bathroom. The only indicator that the Villa hasn’t frozen in place, a relic of the motion that rocked it for weeks, is her beating heart, a tempo fast enough to propel the percussion from her chest, threatening to collapse on the tile alongside every other organ pulled from her body as she rests, still as a corpse on a metal table. 

Whether it’s a blessing or a curse, Erikah doesn’t know, but Ivy’s yet to register her presence behind her, slowly creeping forward. Golden, honey eyes are glued to the cool sink resting beneath her palms as perfectly sculpted, borderline angelic in Erikah’s eyes, shoulders shake in haggard, uneven, rasping sobs and breaths, a broken rhythm that can’t repair itself. A broken sight that can’t piece itself back together. A broken heart that will never heal properly on its own, never be absent of scar tissue and permanent damage, with only Erikah to witness it, to stitch the shattered heart resting in Ivy’s chest back together.

So Erikah continues to walk, to trudge through the swamp that’s filled the bathroom, through the viscous sludge that’s engulfed her legs. She continues to drag herself through the muck and grime clinging to her every pore, begging and grasping and pleading to pull her under the surface until she loses air, until there’s no chance for redemption, until she’s a waterlogged body buried in the slime that she is, surrounded by mud that’s worth more than she ever will be now. 

She thinks she’s almost clear of the deathtrap begging to fill her lungs with anything but air, anything but precious oxygen, anything that can choke her and submerge her, when she’s yanked down to the bottom of the pit, mud coating her throat as she gasps for release. As she sinks and sinks, grime filling her nose as it soaks inside her body, a slow, painful, dragged out death, a death with no mercy, with nothing but malice and burning fire clouding her airways.

Ivy’s eyes are on her in the mirror, the lighting surrounding them playing in the glass, shining in the reflection of those vibrant irises. Those sparkling, staggering irises that are red and watery and _angry._ She hastily wipes at her eyes and the water within them, attempting to remove the remnants of her collapse, to erase the dark colour pouring down her cheeks, but she can’t. Not now, not to Erikah, not after everything she’s played witness to. She sniffles sharply, her expression shapeshifting from pain to fury, a snarl splitting her lips while her eyes narrow at Erikah’s reflection beside her own.

She whirls on the stricken girl behind her, eyes blazing with a day’s worth of pent up frustration and upset and tears and unabashed, unbridled, unadulterated _pain._ And her stance is just as offensive, just as rigid and shaky, every fibre of her being ready to pounce on Erikah at the first sign of trouble, of the first glimpse of another betrayal, the first glimpse of gleaming steel, before Erikah can stab her in the back again, the first knife still sticking out of her shoulder, blood, both dried and flowing, coating her skin, soaking the fabric of her clothing. 

“What, Erikah?!” she whisper-shouts, her voice raw and gritty, nothing like the honey-coated vocals Erikah remembers, the strum of a harp that Erikah could fall into for all of eternity. “Are you here to humiliate me some more? You gonna betray me again? Gonna hurt me and abandon me?” her voice cracks on the last question, any last remnants of Erikah’s heart falling apart with it, fragments poking at her ribs, the only sensation left to her. 

She’s numb to the world, to herself, to everything but a callous and cruel and freezing cold Ivy before her, to the despair still swimming in those amber eyes, her camouflage, her shield, her disguise forgotten in her haste to protect herself, to defend herself from the person that’s hurt her the most, that ripped her apart without remorse, without second thought only a day ago. Any words and pleas and apologies Erikah had wanted to scream and cry out an hour ago have died before they even reached her throat, splinters and shards of the desperate pleas that filled her mind on the terrace are now cutting apart her vocal cords, choking her on blood and the shattered glass of a wild-eyed Ivy, glinting in the light, with Erikah’s own wide eyes reflected in the mirror.

Erikah so terribly wants to go back to an hour ago, when those words were so accessible, so within reach, only a heartbeat, an exhale away. When blood and mud weren’t drowning her, coating her skin and obscuring her vision. When Ivy wasn’t standing across from her, glaring with pure hatred and a second away from breaking down again, from turning to dust before Erikah’s eyes, fragments ground into nothing. She wants to go back upstairs and sit with Clarice, humming and dragging her nail through soft feathers, with the stars shining bright and nothing but silence surrounding her, nothing but a soft breeze flitting through the open air, nothing but calm and serenity providing a backdrop to her whirring thoughts, to the memories of chocolate hair and shining smiles that eased the ever-present throbbing in her chest, if only for a moment.

But now that peaceful quiet, that solitude that nourishes Erikah is gone, nothing but a ghost of a memory, of a distant reality that doesn’t belong to her anymore. It’s been replaced with the real world, a world where Ivy hates her more than anything on this planet, where Erikah’s lost and stranded in a maelstrom of emotions, each one worse than the last, where _she’s_ the reason why everything hurts and burns and aches, a world where Ivy’s falling apart at the seams and Erikah can’t sew - she doesn’t even have a needle and thread.

So Ivy unravels, her stitching coming apart in heaps, thread and fabric falling away in tatters before Erikah, crumpling on the freezing tile. Her shoulders slump as she gives up, as every drop of fight and fire dissipates in the blink of an eye, defeat and hopelessness staining her remaining scraps like the blood on her shoulder. “I can’t do this,” Ivy whispers, already stepping forward, her feet leading her beyond Erikah, beyond their friendship and every second of laughter and knowing glances, beyond the feelings held within Erikah’s chest, thundering against her ribcage, beyond all the possibilities. Her feet lead her to something better, to a room that isn’t scattered with glass, to a world where she isn’t cracked and falling apart for anyone to see, to a galaxy where she’s intact and indestructible, entirely whole again. To a universe without bathroom breakdowns and tear-stained cheeks, without midnight whispers and sunrise breakfasts, without Erikah, and all that that contains.

Somewhere without the girl that would give up just about anything to piece Ivy back together, to watch a smile grow on her lips, to watch honey eyes glint in the sunlight again, to watch a gentle laugh quiver in Ivy’s chest. And yet, regardless of everything she wants to do, Erikah can’t move, not even a millimetre, her feet glued to the cold tile, socks fused to the floor as she stands, motionless and blank and empty, forced to listen to the sounds and gentle echoes of Ivy’s retreating footsteps, forced to listen as Ivy leaves her behind, forced to listen as her best friend discards her for better.

Erikah’s heart vacates her chest in favor of her frozen feet, beating within her toes, unstable and throbbing as her chest constricts, caving in on itself as her body attempts to fill the hole the organ’s absence has created. Only it does nothing more than leaving her feeling emptier than before, her chest heavy with the effort it’s exerting to keep from collapsing, to keep pulsing blood flowing through her veins, to keep her upright, gently swaying on her feet. Erikah feels hollow, a husk of herself, a heartless, empty _nothing_ for letting Ivy walk away, a trail of blood following her every step, cuts covering her body, only more splitting her skin open as her legs carry her through a shining sea of glass.

It’s impossible to tell whether a second has passed, flickering away as Erikah’s eyelashes flutter or a lifetime has, disappearing without an announcement, without acknowledgement, when Erikah finally feels _something,_ even if it’s not enough, even if it’s not right, even if it’s not what she wishes she felt. It’ll never be enough again, no matter what she does, no matter how much she tries, no matter how many emotions she wants to drown herself in, not as long as Erikah’s soul is off following after a disappearing Ivy, her source of joy, of happiness, of feeling of any kind. 

Ivy’s her heart, her lifeforce, her escape in the Villa. She has been since that first sparkling, glimmering, effervescent smile, Erikah’s slowly beginning to realise as she turns on her heel, as she strides to the shower across the room, spinning the handle on. She twists it to the hottest temperature available, until steam fills the small space, overflowing from the gaps in the cubicle, spilling into the rest of the bathroom, the faintest beginnings of fog already creeping along the mirror. Maybe then she’ll feel enough, or at least something close to it, maybe her burning, stinging flesh will be enough to evoke something equivalent to the overwhelming happiness at Ivy’s laugh. It won’t be the same, nothing will, but it’ll be _something._

She carefully and meticulously peels off her clothes, stepping out of the high-waisted trousers she wore to dinner, the top she picked out this evening because Ivy once told her she looked pretty in it, that it was one of her favourites. She pulls off the bracelet she stole from Ivy a few days ago - maybe a week by now - a bracelet Ivy eagerly encouraged her to wear, a glint in her eye as she beamed at Erikah, dropping it in her open palm. She stares at it a moment, standing in the ill-lighting of the few bulbs still emitting a dim, yellow glow, wearing nothing but her underwear as the shower pounds beside her, deafening in the still silence of night.

She stares and stares, flickers of jewelry covering Ivy’s skin, resting on her features and contrasting with her skin floating through her mind, until the bracelet stops sparkling, stops drawing Erikah’s gaze like a magnet, a moth to a flame, a bright, inextinguishable fire. She finishes undressing before stepping beneath the berating water, tiny pinpricks on her skin that leave flames spreading from them, a raging fire exploding along her nerve endings. Her body burns with the heat, skin turning raw and pained under the cruelty of the water, but she doesn’t care that it hurts, that her skin will feel the effects the next day, that her pyjamas will rest on her body oddly. It’s _something,_ at least.

Erikah can’t tell if her skin is blistering, boiling, beaten away by the thundering droplets anymore. Her eyes are closed tight, head above the onslaught as her chest takes the brunt of the damage, needles stabbing her collarbone. She grabs her braids, pulling them up carelessly and securing them with a blue hair tie, the only one from her initial entrance that has survived. She’s lost or given up the rest, the bulk of her extensive collection going to Ivy, who can’t seem to keep a tie for longer than a few hours. Not that Erikah ever minded; it gave her an excuse to tease Ivy, to laugh with her, maybe even to play with her hair or braid it.

The feel of silk beneath her fingers as she weaves molten chocolate, the dark locks smoother than silk, softer than blankets, rarer than gold, as they fill her senses and mind. It was a sensation that quickly became one of Erikah’s favourites weeks ago, one she longed for. Distant, echoing memories of combing her fingers through loose curls in bright, overbearing sunlight or the dead of night begin to provide a phantom beneath her fingers as they rest frozen under the burning waterfall, unmoving as it stings and hurts and is _something._

Ivy always tossed her hair over her shoulder to let Erikah work, sun and starlight illuminating it, glinting off soft, cascading waves. And as odd as Erikah thinks it is, it always made her feel special that she was chosen to work on such a precious commodity, such a rare resource, when Ivy was so hesitant to let anyone else do so. Not once did Erikah see Ivy let anyone else near her hair, subtly or bluntly removing the prospect of Jen or Talia styling it on eventful evenings. Not once did Erikah see Jake or Mason or Jasper combing their fingers through the candied swirl affectionately, a known boundary for Ivy. Not once did Erikah see Ivy let her guard down around paint or pies, tying it back and away from danger to the best of her abilities. 

Yet not once did Erikah see Ivy employing her well-practiced defensive techniques around her. Ivy would ask her to help with her hair before recouplings, when Erikah was finished and she was worried about being late. Ivy would ask her to secure flyaways and pin back strands she couldn’t see as they stood on the challenge platform, waiting for the go ahead, for filming to begin once more. Ivy would hum and settle against the warmth of Erikah’s body when her fingers slipped through dark, impossibly soft tresses in sun or moonlight, when they were alone, sheltered from the world or as it buzzed around them, the Villa bubbling with energy.

It was as if Erikah was the only one to be trusted, the only one Ivy was willing to let in, the only one capable of handling something so delicate. And she crushed it beneath her heel, like a bug on pavement. She threw that trust to the floor to watch it shatter and break, pieces flying around her, flying in any and every direction, slashing anything within reach. Slashing Mason, slashing Erikah, slashing Ivy. She wrapped her hands around that belief Ivy held in her and squeezed until the light in its eyes went out, until it went limp in her arms, until it was dead and gone, never more.

Erikah steps out from the shower, wrapping a towel around her carefully, employing practiced motions to distract herself, to occupy her hands and mind, even for a single second of freedom. She sucks in an unstable breath through her teeth, a hiss accompanying it as she crosses to the sink, the very same one that Ivy had hovered over, had cried over, had cracked and fallen apart over. She glances in the mirror once more, only there’s no red, watery, angry eyes staring back at her, no mascara streaming down Ivy’s cheeks.

Though, there are waterfalls cascading along her own, ones she never once remembers appearing, ones she doesn’t recognize, doesn’t understand how they formed, how they fell from her eyes. But they’re there all the same, sliding down her skin, glittering from the overhead lights, diamonds laid bare on her skin. Diamonds forged through heartbreak, through turmoil, through complete and total anguish. Diamonds that shouldn’t be there, shouldn’t be staring at her in the mirror, a reminder of everything she wants to forget, to ignore, to bury six feet under the dirt outside, wrapped in a nice, little box to never see again. 

Erikah scowls at the sparkling gemstones, wiping them from her cheeks with the heel of her hand, huffing in frustration, in anger as she grips the edge of the sink, knuckles bone white and tight against the skin. Her eyes skate along her reflection, along the skin that’s raw from the attack in the shower, flushed and blotchy from the pricks of fire that burned her. Messy and imperfect and flawed from the flames that scorched her, a physical representation of the wildfire inside of herself, the smoldering embers resting beneath her skin. 

Dark irises rise to her hair, to the haphazard bun holding her braids, to the peek of blue slipping through the dark mass atop her head, a tiny glimpse of a sunlit sky, of quiet mornings before the Villa’s awash in conversation and drama, of softly lapping waves as they crash against sandy beaches nearby.

A glimpse of anywhere but here, any world but this one, any life but the one Erikah has begun to lead. A glimpse of freedom and peace, something she so desperately desires, so desperately requires, so much more than the air cycling through her lungs, so much more than the blood pumping in her veins, so much more than the pulse throbbing in her throat, a painful reminder that she’s still here, that she’s still alive and breathing, even if she doesn’t feel like it. A reminder that this is real, that Ivy is actually gone from her life, that the words she whispered to Mason really do exist, at one point or another, that she’s going to pay for them for as long as her pulse keeps thumping.

That no matter how little she feels, how little she cares, how much she craves to be swept under the waves at the beach, she’s still here. She’s still yet to fall victim to the scalding water that left her raw, to the swamp that dragged her down and drowned her, to the blood still coating her throat when she choked on her apologies. She’s yet to be well and truly, without a doubt, without a drop of uncertainty or hesitation, no matter how close she’s getting, how little is holding her back, completely and entirely _sinking._

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr - [kiki-the-creator](kiki-the-creator.tumblr.com)


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